


Radioactive

by WeedMan



Series: Dark Indulgence [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Cannibalism, Don’t Like Don’t Read, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Inaccurate health issues/concerns, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Maybe eventual smut idk, Mental Health Issues, No One Is Okay, Possessive Shiro (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, READ THE TAGS THANK YOU, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Volcanoes, god i hate myself, not between main characters, radiation, slight noncon, sorta bad au, unwilling cannibalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeedMan/pseuds/WeedMan
Summary: It was hard to ignore the sulfur.It was even harder to try to pretend he was okay with it.The world became covered in ash and vog. Volcanoes erupting killed millions all at once. Animals, insects, human. No one was truly safe when left out in the open.Once the initial explosion receeded, Shiro was never the same.He did the dirty work.To survive, of course.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> What to expect:  
> Death written in the star, but instead it’s post apocalyptic ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ also everyone is kinda less murder for fun-ish. 
> 
> Now beta’d, Thanks Key and Aunt!—READ THE TAGS, OKAY???
> 
> What’s new?
> 
> Weedman strikes again with an angsty horror story for a very very cute ship that shouldn’t have to endure this dumb ass thot who can’t write fluff. I figured if I end up for some reason not being able to come back I might as well post cause hopefully someone likes it.

Shiro set his knife down, the blade still glistening with bright red that dropped onto the counter below.

Shiro finally finished cutting up the rations, wrapping the meat in their own separate airtight bags. Arranging them by fat content in the fridge, lining them up compactly. This would help him survive for… around two weeks if it didn’t rot before then. He still had to see if any of his lettuce or tomatoes had grown up on the roof. Shiro wiped his brow, feeling the slick of sweat against his gloved hand. The summer was always a rough time, it made him want to take a nap in the sun but he still had much to do. 

He still had to get rid of the head. The head wasn’t nutritious, mainly comprised of skin, bones, and cartilage. Plus eyes didn’t taste good in Shiro’s own opinion. As pretty as the cloudy, green eyes were, they would only rot and attract flies later on. Shiro grabbed the head by its long, blond locks, discarding it into a large black trash bag he prepared beforehand. Shutting it down, Shiro’s eyes trailed over the window that shone with a brilliant yellow. 

If only the brightness could match their situation.

Shiro’s eyes fell from the bright, blue sky that mixed into a blackish gray horizon and onto the ground below him. From five stories up, it was quite the sight to see. Each tree was withering, decaying, as the ground crackled with the dry air. Abandoned cars piled among each other in towers of bent metal and foul smelling oil permeating the whole area in the deadly gas. The complex Shiro now resided in had a stellar view of such a desolate area. If he spent a longer glance he would be reminded of the past, before the disaster. But now with little to no need for nostalgia, Shiro took the bag in his hand. 

Shiro crossed the room, a room dedicated to just this action. For the slaughter of others. He pulled his gloves off, disposing them as well into the bag before tying it off. The walls were cream, moldy and dilapidated over time with strange grey stains and splotches of brown rust colored liquid. The adjacent room joined to the room was no better. He opened the door, a rickety wooden door ajar off its hinges. He hoisted the bag over his shoulder, nearly cringing at the squelch of the bag as it bounced upon his back. Shiro begged to the inanimate bag to continue to stay strong. He couldn’t ruin another set of clothing due to stains.

“Hey Shiro, got another one for me?” A voice from his left called. 

Shiro looked up to see Hunk, one of his comrades, coming up to him expectantly. 

“Yeah, Keith found them earlier. Lean and sort of skinny. Found them in the outskirts nearly completely dehydrated. Left them in the fridge, just need to get rid of the excess.” Shiro responded softly, motioning to the uncomfortably heavy bag. 

“Well, that is to be expected. Thanks Shiro, sorry to leave you with the aftermath. We couldn’t do it without you.”

Shiro chuckled, but didn’t project any actual emotion. They just used him like a tool, but it wasn’t as if Shiro was only staying with them due to convenience anyways. It was easier to live as a group. Everyone had their own roles. Shiro just happened to get the job of reluctant killer. He had the build, the skills, but never did Shiro think his time in the military would be used like this. But he had to. If he wanted to survive, he would have to keep everyone alive. No one else knew how to skin a man after all. 

He waved off Hunk, who proceeded into the room he just left. Hunk was the cook and engineer of this complex, a large safe haven for a total of four people. The place was a total of five stories, most of the halls empty and unusable due to ransacking before they came. Shiro walked towards the elevator, thanking the world at the end that he had an engineer and genius on his team that knew how to create electricity. Otherwise Shiro would be walking over four flights of stairs and no matter how fit, Shiro would had given up halfway. 

The elevator clicked to signal that Shiro had reached his floor. Shiro walked out from the elevator and onto the bottom floor, seeing the barricaded windows, the scattering of traps, and wires all littering the floor. Shiro questioned the cracked foundation, but made his way to the only safe door anyways. As his shoes hit the grainy ground Shiro spotted a nest of short brown hair. 

“Pidge?” Shiro asked, stepping closer cautiously to the figure that was sprawled in the floor, “Pidge?”

As if on cue, the figure jolted from its position, sitting upright immediately and their hand coming down upon their small pocket blade. Pidge blinked, disoriented from their apparently short lived nap. Shiro stood in front of them, not going any closer to them before they had fully awakened. Pidge groaned, seeing that they were on the ground and that it was only a nervous Shiro checking up on them. 

“Shiro… what’re you doing? Bottom floor’s off limit.” Pidge muttered from cracked lips.

“Throwing away waste. What are _you_ doing on the ground? What if raiders came in?” Shiro asked, offering the hand that was not holding the garbage to Pidge, who grumpily took it and hoisted themselves up.

“This dumbass alarm would’ve blasted louder than the damn volcano eruption. It’s a bitch to rework when the frequency makes me want to blow my brains out.” 

“Then why don’t you take a break to your bedroom? Or really any other room. I can't say concrete floors or a hotel reception desk would be good for your body.”

“Well this is all my body is getting. I’m hearing on radio that there may be an ash tsunami heading our way,” Pidge huffed, “That means people will be fleeing from the target zone and into the surrounding areas to not only hunt but to find shelter. I need to secure the area. While I could sleep, the storm may already be picking up.” 

“I see…” Shiro knew that protecting the building was difficult work, but knowing that there might be more damage if the storm had hit their area then he may need to find more food so they didn’t risk starvation. 

It was already scarce enough.

“When you get back, tell Keith to go hunt. According to our west division, Allura and Coran are sensing it’ll be a good three days until it will be safe for us to go out once it hits.”

“Alright. Has Allura and Coran prepared?”

“No. Their zone won’t be hit so there’s no need. It’s only us and possibly the Blade of Marmora in the north.”

“Has the Blade prepared?”

“Can’t tell. Their communication has been cutting out too much for me to hear anything other than static.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Shiro said, getting a blank stare from Pidge. 

“We can expect the worst, but we also can just say their communication team is having technical issues.”

“That’s true. We should probably go on an expedition there sometime soon to check on their progress.”

“Yeah, but obviously not now. You’d be covered head to toe in volcanic ash if you didn’t die of of heat stroke first. The vog is still at high toxicity Shiro, take the mask and hurry. I’ll be… working on the traps.” Pidge said, pointing towards the nail by the door that had a large gas mask dangling by a strap. 

Shiro nodded, walking towards the air tight sealed door and flicking the mask off the wall. Shiro placed the mask over his face, attaching all the hooks and latches together to hold it in place. Shiro patted his pockets, making sure to have a small container of water and a machete on hand for any circumstances. Pressing down once again on the mask to truly secure it against his face, Shiro took a deep breath of the filtered air inside before stepping out. 

Feeling the door close as soon as he stepped outside, Shiro was instantly hit with a gust of hot scorching air. He could feel his body starting to shrivel and his first layer of skin drying out through his clothes. Shiro took to his mission quick, adjusting himself to walk towards the dumping grounds for their trash. Shiro was knee deep in the ash as he kicked up layer after layer of dark flakes. As soon as he saw remnants of other bags he threw the next bag over on top of them. Scavenger animals were to soon find the bags and tear them open for resources, but Shiro did his best to not waste much. 

Even through the mask he could smell the overloading scent of sulfur. His gaze fell to the huge pile of garbage. Some of the bags were not their own, a silent truce to keep this one area where the excess should go. Not that it mattered anymore, nor was it a rule. Shiro didn’t bother to think what was in the other bags. Instead, Shiro looked over to the distant fields. Shiro could see distant towers of buildings, unable to see any details other than the greyish blue silhouettes from the distance. Shiro and his group were lucky to get this building, most around the area were gone, overtaken, or about to collapse at first step. There were shacks setup that were long abandoned, rubble, and various empty caves. No water or anything salvageable for miles... if you didn’t know where to look.

Shiro cracked his neck, shoulders, and back. Feeling the rigidity of his own bones, the daunting truth that he felt much older than he truly was was evident. Shiro took time to look around, hoping to find an animal or perhaps anything that could be of use to Pidge or even Keith. The gas mask was limiting, but through all the dust and broken rubble Shiro could only find piles of broken glass and empty canisters strewn about. Shiro sighed, figures that nothing would change. 

As soon as he stepped to face the complex, there was a sudden movement from his right. Just the slightest of displaced dust. The radiation must’ve been getting to him. Perhaps the sulfur or the carbon was messing with his eyes through the mask, or this was a new game his mind decided to play on him. Either way, it was less of a threat and more just paranoia inducing. Shiro felt out his machete, feeling the edge of the blade against his finger tips. He cautiously walked forward, nearly toe to toe steps as if the ash were covering a deep dark abyss that he could fall in. 

He could feel sweat drip from his forehead. His breathing warm, heavy, and bated in the mask. The world was just as desolate as before. There was no movement, only the occasional wind picking up and sending the black ash flying in small circular whirls. As soon as Shiro let his shoulders drop, a hoot from behind him made him jump nearly out of his mask. The whistle was impossibly loud, not muffled by a mask, Shiro inferred. Shiro’s head swiveled toward the noise, seeing something— someone else standing knee deep in the ash.

“Is it hot in here or is it just you?” The man asked, clearly ignoring the fact that the scorching air was due to a volcano eruption. 

Shiro froze, this was a possible ambush. Shiro’s hand tightened around the hilt of his weapon as his head bounced from each ridge or possible cover. Despite the obvious danger, Shiro couldn’t sense any others. He didn’t hear a single abnormal step or a snicker from the set-up. It was only the man in front and himself. Was this man truly alone? Out here? Was he kicked out of his group? Shiro paused, taking the time to look over the man once more. 

The mask and dust combination did not help to survey the figure. As if the world had been purposefully trying to obscure his vision of the man. He was blurry, maybe even an hallucination of people he had left behind, but as the sand shifted and the man came closer the haziness subsided. Tan skin, or perhaps it was just dirt clinging to darken his skin. He was tall, lean, and despite looking like he lived in the outside for months, he visibly didn’t have any injuries. His nails were filled with sand and dirt, riddled with red splotches. The most notable thing about the man was his eyes. They were a pristine blue, reflecting the color of the sky’s before and the rarity of clear water. All shining from within his marble eyes. 

Shiro found himself biting his lip as to keep himself grounded. This man was not proven to be friend or foe at this moment. His clothes were simple, maybe even less than what Shiro was wearing. He wore scraps of a shirt and loose pants, not even carrying any weapon from where Shiro could see. The man was smiling wide, brilliant rows of white teeth. Shiro felt something off about the man’s demeanor and overall image… he wasn’t wearing a mask. Was he immune to the toxins? Did this man have a death wish? 

“Why are you out here?” Shiro decided to ask, a safe question, feeling and adjusting the mask on reflex.

The man didn’t ponder a second, “Looking for a place to stay. House got caught in the middle of it all. Or maybe I just got lost… in your eyes. Hello, handsome.” 

The man winked while giving him finger guns. Being lost would had explained quite a bit. The man didn’t seem to be lying from the look on his face, but the fact that he was very unequipped for such a scenario… it made Shiro question twice. Either way, this man was too suspicious to bring back to the others. Shiro also knew if he didn’t get back to the complex that he might die due to the heat or radiation. Shiro scanned over the harmless man once more, as skinny as he was he would be enough help for the next storm. 

“Where did you plan on going?” Shiro asked, cautiously.

“Anywhere. Just any place where I don’t die of dehydration.” 

“Do you plan on going through the desert looking like that?” Shiro pointed to his exposed skin. 

“Yep! I don’t know how you’re doing it man, it’s just way too hot outside for everything you’re wearing.” 

Has this man gone insane? Crazy? Had he missed the months that were enveloped with darkness? Had he not seen soot cover the area, the immense temperature fluctuation, and as soon as the ash had all fallen, the ozone destroying itself? This was a ploy. It had to be. There was no one like him. Someone who was this unaware and… still perfectly healthy. Shiro couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to the man’s arms. 

**_We should take them._ **

_No. Not yet._

“Do you have anything of value?” Shiro asked, not threatening, but also not friendly.

“Oh, are you trying to rob me? I can assure you I’ve gotten robbed enough times to say the only value I got is my stunningly good jokes.” The man joked.

Shiro pauses. He certainly was non threatening. There were no visible red flags, weapons, or another group in the distance. He didn’t know what to do. All humans he saw that roamed the desert were burnt corpses that had been left stranded. Shiro needed to get out of the heat, he wasn’t able to think properly. His hand fell from its alert position.

“...Shirogane Takashi. Shiro for short.” Shiro said, shaking his head from within the mask. 

What was he doing?

“Lance McClain, happy to meet you Shiro!” Lance chipperly replied. 

“We have space at our place, but don’t expect it to be luxury. 

“Oh wow,” The man didn’t seem to question Shiro’s intentions, “would you really let me room with your gang? Damn I guess my one-liners finally worked for once. You’re not going to question me more? I don’t think I’m the exact replica of an angel, but with a world like this-“

“You step one foot out of line and we can gladly send you away.” Shiro threatened, promising a very likely slow death.

He better get something out of this.

———

The trip was longer than Shiro expected. He figured it more than likely was due to a new break in his routine that came in the form of Lance. As they made their walk Shiro began to notice some… quirks of Lance. He wasn’t the same as most he met. Most people tried to get information, resources, or… anything useful from another. Whether it be skills or items, no one cared to help you if you weren’t useful. 

But Lance didn’t seem to mind where Shiro was going. Perhaps it was his general presence, but he was carefree. Acting as if strutting through the disastrous landscape was something everyday. Like it was his own nature. Something they did on a daily basis. Which, they could, Shiro wouldn’t know. He pranced around the mess that was the ground unlike Shiro who had to stomp to get an even footing. He didn’t have a gas mask and his arms were even exposed to the radiation. Not that Shiro offered to exchange his mask or his own clothes. Shiro didn’t know what to expect, but he certainly didn’t think his ears would be talked off as the complex got closer and closer.

“Is it just you alone out here?” Shiro asked, innocently enough.

“Yep! Me… a bunch of volcanoes… the usual. All alone in this desert. How about you? You got any pals that you need to mention or will I just be subsequently jumped as soon as I get into the right position?” Lance replied.

“I have more people in my team. I’ll properly introduce you once we meet with them,” 

“Oh wow,” Lance drawled before his mouth formed a mischievous smirk, “Any hotties?”

Shiro rolled his eyes, the action hidden by the mask, “Just me. I’m the only _hottie_ because I’m out in this scorching sun,” Shiro quipped.

“Damn, a man who can take my sarcasm and reply with more sarcasm. Truly a man after my heart.” 

**_In more ways than one_ **

“We are here.” Shiro gritted out, already feeling out the edge of the door and pulling with his nails. 

Shiro and Lance entered the building, feeling the suction of air as it closed instantly. Shiro sighed, finally feeling some semblance of air that didn’t feel physically toxic and nauseating. Shiro placed his hand over the latch of the mask, pulling it off with a pleased sigh as he felt sweat bead off his skin and refreshing circulated air hit his face. 

“Oh holy fuck- I ffffff— oh no.“

Lance was making strange strangled noises behind Shiro, only in turn for Shiro to face him with concern on his face. 

“I’m so glad police aren’t a thing anymore because it’s illegal to look that good!” Lance shouted, pointing at Shiro’s face as if it offended him.

“I... thanks?” Shiro said more as a question.

“Hey, stop with the nasty flirts,” A voice came from behind Shiro, “I wasn’t aware there were still prostitutes outside.”

Shiro turned around, seeing a steely gaze flit over their guest in appraisal. Their black hair was swept into a messy and loose ponytail that they really needed to cut it. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a clear sign of disapproval and also warranted defense. 

“Keith, be nice. Keith, this is Lance, I found them on the way.” Shiro said, shedding off more layers of clothes.

Lance looked at Shiro dramatically, as if he betrayed him.

“What’s the deal Shiro? This dude looks like a twig.“ Keith sneered.

“New person?” Someone shouted from behind a pile of boxes. 

Pidge’s head poked into view, the curly brown hair curling against their face. They stepped out from behind a mess of wires, quickly coming up to Lance as if their life depended on it. Lance was shocked, drawing back uncomfortably as Pidge examined him like fresh meat.

“Pidge, personal space.” Shiro’s voiced, pulling Pidge from her observational haze.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry. You were out for some time but… didn’t expect you to bring someone this… healthy out there when they’re dressed in thin straps.” 

“Hey! You try and find good clothes in— wait- wow your clothes are really nice, where did you get them?”

“Handmade by—“

“This isn’t the time to talk fashion either,” Keith barked, “What type of information does he hold? We don’t have enough supplies to keep another mouth fed. Especially if they’re useless.”

“Keith!” Shiro snapped.

“It’s okay Shiro, mullet head is right.” Lance said as Keith hissed at the nickname, staring each other down.

“I am curious as to what Lance has to offer. If he gives us anything useful then I would be willing to share my portion.” Pidge spoke up.

“You’re small enough as is Pidge,” Another voice said, coming out from the elevator with a pan in hand, “any less food that you don’t even eat anyways and you’ll end up dying before any of us. Wait who is this?”

“Hunk meet Lance, Lance meet our whole group,” Shiro said, introducing everyone once again, “I’m the leader here and I hunt, this is Pidge our genius, Keith a fellow hunter, and Hunk our cook and engineer.” 

“Wow this is amazing. You have the full ensemble to a post-apocalyptic protagonist’s story!” Lance said in awe.

“Okay, as much as I love new company, first floor is not the place to congregate. Rule number one while you’re here rookie, floor one is dangerous. We can all meet up on the third floor instead.” Pidge said, already pointing towards the elevator.

“I made some crackers for Pidge, but I guess we can use them as a welcoming gift. To the third floor!” Hunk said, holding the pan steady as he stepped back into the elevator.

“You guys have working elevators!? This is awesome!”

—————————————

Shiro didn’t know what he was expecting when they took Lance in. Shiro truly figured everyone would be threatening Shiro for even bringing Lance, or cynically wanting him to kill him outright. Instead, he integrated. Lance had… a strange skill that, while not skill based, was to be able to become friends with anyone. Once Lance was situated and had his own room on the same floor as Shiro he had no troubles making himself at home. He could casually talk to Hunk about literally anything, mainly recipes and memories of their families. He could chat with Pidge, somehow breaking them enough to talk more than a couple of sentences at a time. He had talked with Keith, and seemed to actively want to talk, but Keith was a master of running away from any sociable form even before the tragedy. 

It was like everyone had just trusted Lance. Nobody had questioned why he was here or for what purpose. He just... clicked.

Then there was Shiro. Lance was… interesting. Most of their conversations were Lance cracking flirtatious jokes or asking about the whereabouts of another member. But that didn’t demerit what Lance was able to do and what Lance made Shiro feel. Shiro hadn’t had conversations that were not out of courtesy. But with Lance the conversations flew, was able to take on its own form. Like Lance wanted to speak to Shiro. It was new, and it made Shiro feel like there were bugs lightly crawling under his skin. Something familiar but far gone. 

“Heya Shiro!” Lance yelled as he started fumbling out a flurry of curses.

Shiro had taken the elevator to the third floor, a floor that was designated their meeting floor due to its wide open living space with a table in the middle. It was obviously supposed to be a lounge with how many destroyed vending machines there were. Hunk was also there, situated at the table with Lance in an intense arm wrestling match. Pidge was there with them, albeit still nose dived into a device that Shiro could only describe as intricate. 

“Hey Shiro.” Pidge echoes without looking up. 

Shiro wasn’t expecting anyone on the third floor. Generally Shiro would have to be the one to herd everyone up to one area by tracking each one down and forcing them to stay on the floor without scuttling away back into their own corner. But now… well, perhaps Lance just had his own gravitational pull. Shiro sat down on the other side of the table, curiously watching as Lance’s slim hand was encased in Hunk’s larger ones. Shiro took a seat on the opposite side of the group, taking in the fact that once Lance and Hunk started Lance wasn’t immediately thrown to the side. 

Instead Shiro rose an eyebrow at the fact he could see the outline of veins in Hunk’s arm popping out against his tan skin. Shiro was conscious of his gaze when he stared at Lance, thus his eyes only glimpses of his determined face and arm before flickering back to the action in the middle. Unsurprisingly, despite Lance clearly cheating by gripping the table, Hunk had overthrown his arm with a loud thud. Hunk shouted in victory as Lance crumbled onto the table with a cry. 

“Two to one!” Hunk hollered.

“Oh, Lance won once?” Shiro teased at the whine from Lance. 

“Yeah. Gave him some handicaps in the first round to even it out, but it went too far when he realized I was ticklish—” Hunk squeamishly yelped as Lance then stabbed at his side, only to retaliate by wrestling Lance.

Shiro watched the scene for a while. Realization dawned on him. Hunk was the most paranoid when it came to newcomers. He was suspicious, always on alert, and had high anxiety. But now, he was chatting with Lance like he knew him long before the incident. It… warmed Shiro. Knowing that Lance could help Hunk with coming out of his shell. Their laughter and rambunctious horseplaying had died down when a loud beeping emitted from Pidge. All their chatter stopped and all their eyes were on Pidge. Pidge angrily grumbled, cursing as they procured a small watch like device from their pocket.

“Our radar on perimeter three is out of commission. It could be just a malfunction or purposefully taken out.” Pidge muttered.

“Which one do you think it is?” Shiro asked.

“Either or, doesn’t matter. The only thing changed is what we might encounter while fixing it. Hunk, I’m going to need you to come with me. And find Keith, we might need him.”

Hunk audibly groaned, “What if there were bandits who are luring us out!? And you know how hard it is to find Keith!” 

“No complaining. We’ve done this before. I need you to go out and fix it. Keith will protect you and I will need to guard the door in the worst case scenario.” Pidge ordered, already collecting their things and heading towards the elevator. 

“Do you need me to help out on the first floor?” Shiro suggested.

“No. There is no need,” Pidge said, “believe me, I would rather you keep Lance distracted from coming to the first floor if we all are going.”

“Alright,” Shiro said, rather nervous at the fact that he was going to be alone with Lance again for the first time since he found him.

“Oh, before I forget, Lance,” Hunk said in epiphany, throwing him a watch, “here’s a warning signaling device. If anything bad happens you open it and press the button. If you feel a vibration from it, it means that there’s danger, so just hide.” 

Lance caught the watch, staring at it quizzically before adjusting it on to his wrist, “I just hide? What if—“

“Ask Shiro, we have work that needs to be done.” Pidge said while nearly grabbing Hunk by the ear to lead him to the elevator. 

Hunk shot Lance and Shiro a shrug as he followed them to make their way down. Lance and Shiro waited silently, hearing the wires rattle and the elevator descending. Shiro could see from the corner of his eye, Lance, who was making a show of not staring too harshly at Shiro. Shiro chuckled lightly, he knew what was happening.

“If you have questions then you can ask.” Shiro said, making complete eye contact.

“Oh boy, I have many, but your number is a high priority— wait no, numbers don’t exists anymore. Then I guess I’ll just ask again, I just hide? What if the threat is different or a bomb that collapses the whole building!?” Lance asked, his imagination rapidly making new and dangerous scenarios. 

“We all have different roles when the alarm rings. Me and Keith are to get on the first floor and fight any physical threats. Pidge takes the second floor and cuts off the elevators, securing our network to send a message to our alliance. Hunk makes sure the traps laid out in the building are operational. If it’s anything that will take the building down then it will play actual audio.”

“Alliance? Traps?”

“The traps are the reason why we need you to hide. Your room is a safe bet so you don’t trigger any. They’re on every floor and they will definitely rip a hole through you,” Lance visibly shuddered, “and we do have an alliance with another two groups on either side of us. One focuses on broadcasting updates on weather and the state of decay in the area, the other is a stockpile type group. They’re rather prone to violence and has helped us escape some rather unfortunate encounters before.” 

“That’s… nice. Honestly I didn’t think there would be more than savages out here. Have you ever thought of moving closer to the border? Less likely to experience ash storms.”

“Sure, if we wanted to be shot down and hunted. People who have settled there more than likely already raided the militaries arsenal.”

“Well, we don’t know that.” Lance pouted.

“Better safe than sorry. We have heard that more… rambunctious and violent gangs have began to grow within the area. It’s not a stretch to say they have made their way there long ago.” 

Lance nodded, not intending on responding. A comfortable silence filled the air before Shiro looked in Lance’s direction. Lance’s eyes instantly shot up to the roof or really any other direction that wasn’t near Shiro’s vicinity. Shiro felt a small smug part of him bloom. Shiro wasn’t dumb, but he certainly was a cheeky ass bitch. 

“Like what you see?” Shiro jokes, not expecting a real reaction.

“More than that.” Lance answers back with no hesitation. 

A small silence had creeped into the air as Shiro tried to find other ways to continue their conversation.

“So… should I ask?”

“About what?” Shiro questioned, searching Lance’s face.

“Your arm. It looks high tech. Something in me says that Pidge and Hunk, bless their little genius minds, wouldn’t be able to make that,”

It wasn’t as if Shiro wasn’t used to the question. His arm was obvious mismatched. 

“I was in the army. Honorable discharge after an injury that took my arm, also got an advanced prosthetic out of it as well.” 

“Oh wow. That’s some pretty rough stuff to deal with.” Lance said with guilt.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about it, but truly I am lucky that I got it before the world went down with all the technology. This is the best that was made.” Shiro gloated, still reminiscing the memory of when he first got a new arm. 

He was very satisfied with being able to do everything as normally as he always had done. 

“That’s really cool. My uncle was a soldier, came back with more stories than injuries and I prefer it that way. Did you also get a super asshole-ish supervisor?”

“What supervisor isn't? I’d be more surprised if you found me one that didn’t break my kneecaps everytime I stood a centimeter out of line.”

“Damn it was that bad?” Concern lacing Lance’s voice.

“Oh yeah, for sure. Let me tell you about this one superintendent named Iverson…”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Now beta’d, thank you my two lovely editors, Key and Aunt!

“And so they got extra security so that we couldn’t sneak out at night.” 

Lance snorted with a big wide smile on his face, trying to hold in laughter, “That was so your fault! I feel bad for your whole squad!” 

Shiro couldn’t help but feel his own smile being torn out while watching Lance almost toppling over. 

“Well, let’s be real, they knew it was hilarious.” Shiro smiled.

Shiro felt a warmth in his stomach as he stared at Lance. His whole body was warm, his eyes blurred out the surrounding as he focused on each slender finger that was trying to stifle his mouth. Shiro’s eyes broke from Lance’s gaze in what felt like forever, flitting to stare at his watch. It’s already been two hours?

“What was it like?” Lance asked, his eyes filled with actual goddamn light. 

“What is what like?” Shiro asked in turn. 

“You, before the whole apocalypse hit?” Lance said, carefully rubbing a thumb across Shiro’s metal hand.

“I… not much,” Shiro said, barely able to concentrate as this was a much different scenario than he usually had to deal with, “I was in the military.”

“And? Sorry, I just want to know more about you.” Lance smiled. 

As if Shiro couldn’t scream any more internally, his whole body was pleased, his mind singing praises to Lance. God, Shiro was broken. This simple act gesture of kindness, even if Shiro convinced himself was an act, it felt real. Shiro wanted Lance’s genuine curiosity. He wanted to experience that happiness once again of being human. Actively seeking out companionship and wanting to be held. Shiro was surely going mad. This was Lance, a stranger, a man who he had just picked up off the broken world. A man with chocolate locks and long limber legs. 

“I… I used to play a lot of games. Lots of bullet hell and action games.”

“Really? Damn I’ve always sucked at bullet hells. So much is going on on screen and my eyes just go cross eyed! I bet you were really good. You seem to be able to stay level headed…”

The conversation dragged on, just back and forth idle chatter about life and the past as Shiro kept noticing more and more small details of Lance’s frame. The way he had small freckles not just on his face, but some of his arm. The way that when he smiled his whole face lit up and his eyes gleamed. The way that before Shiro knew it, Lance was holding his hand, idly rubbing circles. 

“So… can I ask about you?” Shiro dares.

“Depends on what and how you ask, Shiro.” Lance says, as charismatic as always.

“Are—“ Shiro began, but was cut off by a loud strained beep, “Shit—“

Shiro hurriedly got up from his seat, his chair scraping on the old concrete floor. Shiro knew what each individual minute beep was programmed into the watch. It was how they sent discreet messages and are a force to be reckoned with. He heard Lance fumbling after him, concerned and not able to ignore him, he stopped before Lance could try and follow him. 

“Lance, I need you to stay here.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

Before Shiro knew it, Lance was running down the stairs with him, long legs able to catch up with Shiro. Their steps heavy against the stairs, echoing above the beeping. Shiro skidded by each edge, shortening the time by gripping the railing fast and twisting himself around the curve while skipping each step. Still extremely surprised that Lance could catch up with him. 

“That's Keith’s alarm,” Shiro panted, “He isn’t the type to use it unless he knew it was life or death.”

Lance cursed, gasping for air as Shiro and him hit the first floor door, fumbling out of the rather small exit. Shiro mustered up the strength to continue the quick pace, Seeing Pidge preparing a kit for Shiro to go out. Behind Pidge was a laptop, showing a red dot, displaying the location of the broken surveillance camera. Pidge seemed pleased to see Shiro already down, but their face couldn’t hide the worry that Lance was also down as well. 

Shiro grabbed the long coat, boots, and mask. Gearing up in the resistant clothing. Gearing up in practiced ease, and desperation. The last thing Shiro grabbed off the desk was a gun. Specifically a small handgun now holstered onto a strap on his side and a larger rifle that slung onto his back. Shiro shot Pidge a look, which Pidge returned. 

“It’s northwest. Once you get within a mile of the twelfth camera, watch your step. Something tells me this won’t be the usual bandits.”

“If it was, Keith wouldn’t had called. Lance, you need to stay here. Help Pidge with anything they need.” Shiro said, already heading towards the entrance. 

“Wait! I can help you!” Lance shouted, chasing down Shiro. 

“Lance, you’ll die out there. We don’t have enough gear for you, let alone another weapon.”

“I can still go out there and—“

“Lance! Let Shiro go do his goddamn job.” Pidge yelled.

Shiro, even with the mask, could only see Lance’s hurt face as if Shiro leaving physically hurt him as he pried the door open and left as Pidge held Lance back. As soon as the door closed Shiro felt the sweat dripping. The exhaustion of his run instantly hit as well as the adrenaline of the call. He could even say for a moment that he forgot the whole world was fucked up and deserted while he was upstairs, speaking with Lance about the past. Shiro couldn’t help but reflect on the part of his mind that imagined the world would be clean, clear, and perfect, once again, before he opened the door. 

When was the last time he didn’t think of the broken world? His feet were heavy, weighed down by ashes that dared to drown him as they flakes away with each step. His oxygen was hot, coating his already dry throat with regret. His eyes were squinted, having trouble dealing with all the light reflected off the clouds. Shiro has several points gone to camera twelve, everyone had. Shiro crosses by one of the tallest trees he saw left standing, burnt to a crisp and ready to fall once the storm had decided to come in. Shiro went past an antique car, obviously broken and inoperable, but unique as a decoration in all the blandness nonetheless.

By the time the scenery changed to be something similar to where Shiro remembered the camera resided, Shiro stopped taking fast sprints to more of a cautious stride. Shiro kept his head down, slightly obscured by the coat to hide not only from dust but to possible enemies. Shiro didn’t see Keith or Hunk yet, not expecting to. Shiro was a paranoid man, skillfully mapping out his movements as he watched for any movement or changes in the landscape as he snuck his way around a more roundabout direction to the camera. 

Shiro stepped behind a large rock or a piece of rubble for a moment, feeling his wrist vibrating. It was Pidge, Shiro cursed, expecting the worst as he settling his back against the rock and responded with versions clicks before hearing Pidge’s crackly voice reverberating through.

“Shiro! Are you far out yet?” 

“Fairly far. I’m within a mile, searching.”

“Fuck— shit— **fuck**!”

“Pidge? What happened? What’s wrong?” Shiro said, unstrapping the rifle and going to a crouch, ready to storm back. 

“My weapon is gone, the ammunition is gone,” Pidge replied, voice low, “ _Lance is gone_.”

Shiro felt himself go cold, despite how hot it was under layers and outside in the sun. His hair stood on end as he felt actual shivers. 

“When did he leave?”

“I can’t be sure. I’ve been trying to find a way to track Keith and Hunk and before I knew it, there was a heat wave and the door had been opened.” Pidge said solemnly.

“... That's fine. We will worry about that after. I have to advance and find the others, I’ll keep you aware.” 

“Thanks, Shiro. Good luck.” 

And with that Shiro turned off the signal, checking his surroundings before scuttling to the next largest cover. There was nothing around him, well no Hunk or Keith yet. Before Shiro could even begin to wonder what happened, Shiro spotted movement to his right. Shiro clutched his gun closer, feeling the trigger out. Imagery of bombs and surprise attacks replaying in his head as he kept his head cool. He pointed his gun in the direction of the movement, almost a hair away from pulling the trigger—

“Put the gun away, soldier.”

Shiro froze, feeling the tip of a gun right at his spine. More than the thought of death making his stomach flip, Shiro had to bite his lip to stop himself from pointing his gun at his own head. Shiro felt sick, and he was sure it was more than nausea from the sun, smell, and worry. 

“Shiro… it’s nice to see you again,” The man smirked, his mouth shaped more like a snarl, “turn around, drop the gun and put your hands up, let me look at you, babe.” 

Shiro felt the signature puke piling up as he dropped his rifle into the soft substrate unwillingly. He lifted his hands nearly ninety degrees and slowly turned in the same spot to unfortunately see a _very_ familiar face. Well, the mask that covered the familiar face. He towered over Shiro, a feat that most couldn’t do, and had a large scar poking from under the mask. He wore a long purple robe, decked out in some highly classified tactical gear that everyone would envy. How he got it, Shiro would never know. The large man moved a step closer, almost touching masks. 

“I missed you a lot, well, your tight body that is,” He said, using the tip of the gun to lightly trace Shiro’s pec, “I wouldn’t have known it was you if I didn’t see your white bangs.” 

“Sendak…” Shiro shuddered, but clearly, it was a mistake. 

“What? We meet after all this time and that’s all you have to say? Give me a hand here, aren’t you glad I survived?” Sendak said, one hand tightening on his gun and his other hand traveling up to dangerously trace around the edge of Shiro’s mask. 

“Why are you here?” Shiro spat, not even trying to hide the venom in his words.

“Calm down, babycakes, I’m just trying to catch up with you after all these years… it won’t hurt a bit.” 

Sendak’s leg wormed its way between Shiro’s, lightly feathering over his groin. One second Sendak was feeling Shiro up, and the next Shiro had kneed Sendak in the genitals and drew out his hand gun faster than Sendak could collapse to the ground with an utterly broken cry. Shiro trained the gun on Sendak’s head, ready to pull the trigger in absolute disgust. He seethed as he felt a bottle he swallowed down inside him being opened up. 

“You **used** me! You tricked me and left me to die alone under the rouse— I thought you loved me!” Shiro yelled, feeling his own breathing erratic, his mind lost in the haze. 

As Sendak laid on the floor, Shiro could see flashes of the past mixing with the foggy reality. His eyes burned, displaying images after images of Sendak on the desert ground, bleeding from his side and just whispering, _”Takashi… Takashi…”_. His brain supplied the feeling of a hand in a sturdy death grip, clutching his arm as if it were the last. His mind raced to the words of empty and broken promises to and if they were to survive. Sendak groaned, his body shaking as his crumpled form began to slowly bring itself back up. 

“I— fucking goddammit- _Takashi_ …”

Shiro felt his footing weaken at the use of his first name, something so simple, yet utterly terrifying. Shiro felt his hand shaking. Mercy. A remnant of Shiro’s past was alive, and his whole being wanted it to stay. As Shiro was lost inside his mind, Sendak had gotten up, fully standing, albeit leaning. Despite the movement, Shiro’s gun never strayed like his mind. His mask hiding the glaze over his eyes. 

“ _Now you’ve done it._ ” 

Sendak’s voice was no longer playful or flirtatious. Instead it rang out with a growl, a low bellowy chuckle. Shiro snapped back to reality, only now realizing that Sendak did not seem concerned about the obvious threat of Shiro. He didn’t need to be. Shiro felt his gut being smothered in danger, feeling the daggers of multiple eyes and more than likely the target of many assailants. 

“I wanted to give you a chance babycakes. We already took down the Blade. Imagine my surprise when I heard your name getting tossed around by pathetic weaklings like them! Babe, you know that we are better than them. Come with me, I’ll even put in a good word for you. You saved my life, after all,” Sendak said, his words coating Shiro like oil, suffocating him as Sendak’s hand trailed over his body, finding and squeezing at his hips, “ _You were always mine_.” 

Just then a band was heard, twisted metal upon the screaming of a man. Then another pop and a woman screams out. Sendak’s head swerves to where his suspected members had been attacked. Sendak curses, pulling Shiro closer, suffocating him as Sendak’s large arms headlocked in position and Sendak drew his gun to Shiro’s head. 

Another bang. 

This time from Shiro’s rifle. 

Shiro felt liquid pour from over his head, sliding down beneath the mask. The arm around his neck loosened. Shiro felt the will, the life leaving from those arms. Just like last time. Only this was now and that was then, Shiro could barely process it before his mind jumped to survival. Only lagging behind to process the noise of Sendak’s body on the ground and the blood leaking from the other’s mask. Dead in the middle. It left the past in a leap and slowed to calculate reality. Shiro took up his forgotten rifle, scanning the area. He didn’t know if the one who took the others down was friend or foe. 

Shiro took the time to dive behind another piece of rubble from a building, assuming that the shot came from behind him, he took cover as he heard six more resonating shots from the same gun, the other guns quicker and clearly in retaliation, before it died down to an eerie silence. Shiro sighed in relief, but knew it more than likely meant that if both opposing sides weren’t dead, then they were advancing. Shiro took time to scan the area once again, seeing some more bodies dressed nearly the same as Sendak, in purple robes and all, on the ground emitting red liquid. 

Shiro places his handgun into the holster, still warily holding the rifle as he rummaged to clean what sweat and blood he could under his mask. Shiro hadn’t realized how much time he was out, no wonder everything felt slow and he was sluggish… As soon as Shiro latched back on the mask, he heard something. Close. And… familiar? 

“Shiro— Shiro!” The voice yelled.

Shiro turned around, seeing a familiar glowing face sparked with relief and also… happiness? It was Lance. Lance… who wore nothing but a shirt, pants, and a sniper rifle. He didn’t even have shoes on, Shiro notes as Lance trudged his way down to Shiro’s location. Before Shiro could even voice his questions or concerns, Lance hushed him, heaving in pure sulfur and ash as he caught his breath. Lance rested his head against Shiro’s frame, hiding his face as his shoulders raises and falls. Shiro could see a nest of dark dust and Lance’s hands caked in dirt or ash. His clothes ruined, maybe even torn somehow. His usual smooth tone was now wrecked.

“It— it’s too late for me. It’s okay. It’s fine. Sorry- I- I got worried. Couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t… couldn’t help.. I’m sorry… I wanted to be useful. I don’t want to see you die. I was worried. I— it’s hard to- I’m sorry,” Lance broke, before long his knees giving out, “There’s a new gang, they are— they are called the Galra. They’re dangerous… large. Hurry… Shiro.”

The body slid off from Shiro’s body, only to be caught before it collapsed limplessly. 

Shiro hoisted the body onto his back, not even able to feel the extra weight as his body was completely numb. Shiro snatched the rifle from the ground, strapping it to his side after he checks one small thing. 

No bullets. 

—————

The rest of the day was a blur. 

Before long the misshapen sun was gone and it was dark. 

He found Keith and Hunk. Both beaten, but alive. Saying they got jumped by another gang, a smaller one but enough to outnumber them. Able to restore the camera. Once they saw his ragged form, covered in blood and carrying Lance, they questioned, but Shiro didn’t answer. Only handing Hunk Pidge’s gun and quietly rearranging the corpse on his back to return silently to the base. 

————

By the time Shiro put Lance down, he hadn’t even realized he was at the base. Just that he was somewhere he could safely situate him. Everybody was silent as they removed masks, coats, and weapons. The others unable to look down upon Lance. Everyone is reluctant, but it must be done. Just like some of the newly learned Galra that Keith carried. Just like all the animals, mammals, and plants, Lance too would be used as a means to survive. 

It made Shiro sick. 

For the first time he puked as he worked upstairs.

—————-

Translucent red liquid ran down his chin. Instead of trying to take his mind off the substance in his mouth, he did his best to chew it down quicker. It was chewy, unavoidably soft, but yet while he felt it on his tongue he couldn’t avoid the salt of his tears that trail over his lips. He was ready to puke. It was always a rule for them to never think of what their food was, but only to think of it as a way to live. Shiro was always good at that rule. But why was it different now? Every time he took a bite it just reminded him of what he had done.

He kept the head. 

The day after everyone decided they wanted to use Lance’s body, Shiro had gone to work. There were numerous methods they had gone about this process, but Shiro couldn’t bare to harm Lance himself. His hesitation wasn’t benefitting anyone, but he felt his survival side just as reluctant. He stepped into the dark room, seeing the dark walls. He made sure it was a quick and clean process of decapitation. He wouldn’t had suffered any more. It was a strange mercy Shiro had never seen himself have on anyone else. Even he took his time with Sendak. 

Shiro kept his fork in one hand, the other carrying a chipped glass bowl in hand, filled with lettuce and meat. While Hunk’s presentation would’ve tricked even a well trained eye, Shiro was looking at the product it came from. Lance’s head was clearly decapitated. Nothing wasted as Shiro treated him like all the others. Unwillingly, but so routine. Only there was a new found sorrow that weighed heavy inside his chest. What made him so different? Shiro slowly ate as he looked over the dilapidated walls to the head. 

The lifeless head of such a jovial man… his clear skin was splotched with blood, the tan skin becoming a dull grey as it was drained. His lips were chapped, his hair frayed, and his eyes… something made Shiro shiver as he stared into the marble like eyes. Shiro was sure they would had turned cloudy. A remnant of what they were and what they represented inside Lance’s clear soul, but instead they were… the same. Clear, just as the time they met. Such a vibrant royal blue that had not been tarnished.

His eyes looked alive. Almost unnervingly so.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro found himself saying.

He never apologized to a corpse before, atleast, not aloud.

“This is a fucked up world we live in... And well, I’m not any better. I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.” 

Shiro found himself rebounding from his actions. Even if it was swift, clean, and fast, it hurt. No one deserved this fate. Lance didn’t deserve this fate. But it wasn’t as if he could hear him now. None of his victims would. They all found a home in a garbage bag down the hill. Shiro put down the bowl he finished, feeling the need to regurgitate all of his contents, but the need to not waste forcing his mouth closed. He would recover from this feeling soon. Nothing would change. 

He would still hunt when the ash cleared. Pidge and Hunk would continue to try to communicate with their other outposts and fix the building to be more safe, Keith would be off more than likely overthinking and training. It just felt like something was missing. Something he couldn’t get back. Shiro looked back at the head. It stared back. Shiro wrapped the head in a lazy manner, setting it into a corner where Hunk wouldn’t find it, even if he had visited the room; though Shiro doubted he would, no one visited this room for long, only Shiro. 

Shiro whispered one last apology as he stood up from the ground. He truly was going insane. Shiro scratched his head, needing to get some air or something so he can correct himself back to his original state of just being useful. Shiro left the room just like that. Walking away from the butcher room and to the elevator to the second floor. He walked towards the end of the hall once the doors opened and found his own room. The same structure as ever other house, but nothing. It held a single bed that had rarely been used and a lamp Pidge forced onto him. Otherwise Shiro had not personalized anything. He wasn’t like Pidge who hordes items, or Hunk who had unfinished projects galore in his room, or even Keith, who had a fascination with reading and collecting weapons. 

It was blank.

Just like him. 

Hell, he was sure his other room was more decorated… well, saying that it was covered in blood and also a rotting head as decoration. Shiro sat down on the bed, hearing the creaking of wires that dig into his ass and felt the dust ridden blankets. He wondered what his teammates felt when they went to sleep. What went through their head? Are they like him? Regretting that he lived through the natural disasters? Or did they use it as a crutch to get stronger? Told the world to fuck off and are doing what they wanted to do? Who knows. 

Shiro set his head on the bed, knowing sleep wouldn’t find him quick. His mind was lost in the hazy world of icy blue eyes.

————-

When morning came his throat felt parched. His bones ached and cracked with each movement. Something inside Shiro wished for the day to never come, to send him back to the past and show him the world before. But as his crusted eyes slowly opened, reality once again crashed down upon him like a ten story building. Only this time his room wasn’t bathed in any early morning light, but was closely pitch black. Shiro groaned, of course, he forgot about the storm. 

Shiro forced his body to leave the confines of his bed, making twice the effort to leave the room. The bare minimum of light streaming from the single light bulb in the elevator, causing Shiro to kick up rocks and empty cans from their dusty confines. As soon as Shiro stepped under the small light source Shiro contemplated what he was actually doing. He didn’t know if he wanted to see the others. They were his friends, fellow colleagues yes, but every time he saw them… he was reminded of what his place was. If it weren’t for them he wouldn’t have ever had to kill. But, if it weren’t for them he would also be dead. 

Shiro rested his hand against the smooth button, pressing the fifth one. The urge to just get farther away from the others bubbled under his skin as he felt gravity force against his body. The door slid open with an ear piercing scrape of metal on metal. Shiro stepped out of the elevator, taking in the storm from the fifth floor window. Of course there was ash on the ground, it wasn’t as it the whole place didn’t have a broken window or five. The ash was dancing with the wind, toiling as it washed against the window only to fly away with its other million flakes. Shiro tore his eyes off the window and made his way to the butcher’s room. 

Shiro’s unkempt nails and calloused fingers hit the metal knob, a chill permeating the air. Shiro bit on the inside of his lip, twisting the knob quickly. Strangely taken aback as nothing had jumped out and attacked him. Shiro laughed at himself internally, of course, he was just being paranoid. Paranoid as he had been in the army. Shiro’s relief was short lived as he peered into the room. It would seem nothing was wrong, the walls were still shit and the counters undeniably dirty, but there was just one thing missing. Lance’s head.

Shiro’s mind instantly ran towards blaming Hunk for disposing of it, but Hunk only went in the room when he had to due to his gag reflex. Keith? Keith never went on to the fifth floor unless Shiro or Hunk asked. Pidge? Would they even need a reason? Shiro stumbled over to the next room that was joined to the room, scanning the perimeters before his eyes caught on… something. The room still had furniture albeit broken down and covered in nearly a decades worth of dust and more than likely bugs, but in addition now it had a human. 

Tan skin that divulged from the head, torso, arms, and… no legs. Or more like half of his legs. The stumps were writhing, almost as if it were its own separate entity that was knitting its way to completion. Shiro felt his breath taken away. He could only stare in complete confusion and awe as the figure started to move, facing him. Piercing blue eyes and wild short hairs sticking from his scalp. Eyebrows knit with nervousness and his plush lips curved in a frown disguised as a smile.

“I was planning on leaving,” Lance said somberly, “but the storm sort of got too strong, even for me.” 

“How…” was all Shiro could even say.

“There's some amazing discoveries you could make when you decide to try to kill yourself by walking outside. Kept waking up every time I blacked out. Turns out I can’t die. Can’t explain it if I tried. Radiation? Mutation? I’m just damned for all eternity? Who knows!” Lance cynically laughed to the frigid air.

Shiro couldn’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao is this a good time for me to say this was originally gonna be a Deadpool x Spider-man fanfic but then I changed my mind—
> 
> Plz comment :,))) I’m desperate and I love reading any and all comments.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I came back and I came to deliver some garbage that I wrote up over a year ago. Am I okay? No. No I’m not. But am I powering through this like a damn rollercoaster?  
> Also no. Please send help—
> 
> A note to those who have been waiting for my stuff (even if it is for specific works): Thanks for sticking around. It really means a lot.


End file.
